Friday, 14 November 2014

Friday Poem - A Frenchie Double Bill

For this week's Friday Poem Francine Samuel provides a double dose of verse. Take a look below:

My Ink, My Tears, Same Crimson...

When the infant girl asks for what crime
She is buried alive, when the young mother
To be is snatched in the night to abort
the baby female she is carrying,
When the young girl is forced to marry her rapist,
When no one is interested in their single story,
My ink turns to blood, crimson, grime!

When religions or cultures override and take over
Common sense, what can be done to thwart
The ignorance of mankind, for centuries continuing.
Don't they know it is the male sperm, the basic
That decides of the child sex, such vain glory,
My ink turns to poison, oozing acid, grime!

When the young mother is beaten by her in laws
For giving birth to a daughter, why don't they blame
Their son who carried the seed. Him, they should hound.
When the rich replace baby girls with stolen baby boys
When the young child dare not exposing her abuser,
My pen bleeds and cries, forced to write words so grime!

Enough, no more violence against women. Pause.
Let our girls grow secure, remove the veil of shame
From my sisters. O mankind, when you are underground
The infant girl questions you for what sin you cut her voice
When you showed no mercy, none will be for you, loser
My ink, my tears, the same crimson, as I think of your crime.

Not the end

I wrote this one because the plea of women in the world concerns me. As a woman and a poet, I make it my duty to pass on a message. Yes, many women are still oppressed because religions and cultures are overriding comon sense. It is up to us to break the circle for girls to grow without fear. Baby girls are still considered as bad luck or a financial in some cultures, many men still divorce their wives for giving birth to girls. Poor education, neglect is their lot.

The rhyming is a fancy rhyming, each end rhyme rhymes with the next chapter..

The discarded rose (new beginnings..)

Walking by the ocean today, I found a discarded rose
A beauty long forgotten by a careless mind...
I picked it up to take it home, to nurture it back to life.
The rose revived and blossomed under my gentle care,
You see, with a little love, a little tenderness, everything grows.
But you have to learn to break the ties, bad memories that bind.
Learn to love again, slowly, dare to hope, not giving up the figh.t
Once upon a time, I felt like a discarded rose, but I feel it no longer.

One of my favourites. I was looking for some image on Google when I stumbled upon this one. Immediately, the words of the poem came to me.